


A date with death

by pleadwithmeshoutscream



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Death, Depression, Experimental, Grim Reaper - Freeform, Jinmark, M/M, Markjin, Social Anxiety, life - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleadwithmeshoutscream/pseuds/pleadwithmeshoutscream
Summary: Mark hasn't felt alive in a long time. Which should make it easier when he finds out he hasn't got much time left.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated. Let me know if you're interested to know where this is going.

The Grim Reaper  
 

Mark often questions the meaning of life. Why are the inhales and exhales necessary for human beings. Either in constant metronime or occassional leaping staccatos. He knows the science. He knows that one needs oxygen to breathe and breathe to live. But what is the point exactly? The reason such fragile beings exist in great numbers to create and destroy themselves and the world they live in?

If there is a God, Mark wants to meet Him. No, not just any "god". Not an immortal diety capable of magic tricks. Mark wants to meet his Creator. The beginning of everything. An existence that exists pre-dawn of time and will thereafter remain when everything else cease to exist. That's the only kind of power Mark chooses to believe in.

He has no time for fragile, temperamental, fickle "gods". No faith for those who claim themselves holy yet fall into lust and envy with creatures as fragile as himself. But one dat he hopes to meet THE Lord, God. He wants to meet him, and ask him. Why have you created mankind when you know of the world and everything in it. Why create these vile chesspieces and have them fight amongst themselves and bleed?Why didn't He just create a perfect world? A thing of beauty and kind and peace?

He just doesn't understand life. Why go through the motions of waking up every damn day to take part in a society made up of man-made systems and time tables and clockwork obligation? Who the heck invented time? Who in the world had gotten himself into a state of boredom so prominent they thought it be interesting to add units of measurement to rhythm and make it compulsory for all to slave away to?  
  
It’s raining today. Mark has himself wrapped in his worn out blankets, pillow so aged that it's barely supporting his head. He’s been having a shit migraine as of late and it hasn't stopped. Te weather outside, no consolation for the throbbing stabs against his skull.

The smell of iron, earth, and slept in sheets so nauseating to his plan. Cotton; cold against his skin, thin and doing a pathetic job of containing any body heat. Fingers frozen, goosebumps decorating his arms all over. As he tucks his hands under his thighs, he flinches at the difference in temperature. Brain whirring at light speed with thoughts that mean everything and nothing at all.

Mark is numb. Which is an odd contrast to how rapidly his heart is beating. When did it start? When did he come to the realization that his heart has is beating at an odd pace compared to the average joe? The boy sighs. It seems that that’s all he has the energy to do these days.

Suddenly painfully aware of the tiny whistling that comes partnered with his exhales. He wishes it was a little more quieter. He wishes his subconscious mind would halt and leave him in the peaceful company of doing nothing but merely existing. He wishes the world would either stop spinning or just let him go.

What is the purpose of life again? A loud clap of thunder jolts him from his solitude, heart leaping painfully against his chest. Great. Fuck. Mark thinks he almost died from the shock. Mark thinks maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad a thing if he did. He’d already contemplated throwing himself out the window a couple of times. He would. He really would.

If it wasn’t that scary looking down. If he wasn’t that much of a coward to pain. If he was sure Hell doesn't exist. And he isn't. Sure that is. Hell doesn't seem like a comfortable place. Pain. Physical pain, emotional pain; he’s allergic to anything that makes him uncomfortable. Avoiding people like a plague because he doesn’t have the willpower to consider unpredictable variables in life.

And the relationship between Homo sapiens are temporary and driven by freewill therefore too unstable for him to bother dealing with. But then again, he doesn’t have much time for life at all, really. He exists merely in his brain. The sad mental state of an individual cursed with depersonalization disorder. Constantly feeling like a little man controlling a bigger tank and looking through a viewfinder.

Mark slides back into a state of semi-consciousness. A deep enough daze that leaves him incognizant of the tapping against his glass window. Outside is a creature made of smoke; black, almost wistful. Somehow the creature felt something that made him freeze mid-tap. Like this need to give the still figure a moment of silence.

Like he had interrupted something sacred. Like the bed was a throne and there lay royalty with his walls as castle moat, window; a drawbridge and his quiet breathing; a deep hatred for the world strong enough to keep his majesty circumscribed into his confinement and raise nearly tangible barriers.

Mark finally surfaces a couple of minutes later, turning his head slightly towards the window to his left. If he saw the other outside, he didn’t present much of a reaction. Stunned, the creature lets its jaw hang a little.

There framed in the center of debris is porcelain with chapped lips and impassive eyes. It’s funny how despite being placed against such a rundown background of yellowing walls and discolored evidence of where frames might have once been, mold at the corners and a cocktail of shredded paper, fragments of glass, pieces of ceramic and powder scattered all over the floor, he still managed to look like a noble. Everything compliments him well. Guess it’s all in the blood, Jin thinks. But what astonishes him most, is that he has the boy’s unflinching gaze. It’s like the boy’s eyes are seeing right through him.  
  
So much so that he almost wondered if he has the wrong place. He’s usually invisible to human beings whose time is still distant and drawn out in front of them. It can’t be. He’s meticulous in his work.

_Section C of Article 11; rule #37: Aways double check the address._

Jin’s expression morphs to a slight frown. No, this has to be it. He can feel it. Mark’s heartbeat slowed down for the first time in years. He looks at the two violet eyes studying him.

He should probably be frightened. Or discombobulated at the least. There’s a figure standing outside the window of his 7th story room. There’s no fire escape. Not in this mansion he calls home. But he doesn’t think he can find the energy to be. Maybe subconsciously he is. Maybe. But the rise and fall of his chest seem to disagree. Like he’s enchanted, Mark stares affrightedly into the orbs, unblinking and almost challengingly.  
  
“………..hey.”  
  
Mark blinks. Once, twice. “Hi,” it comes out raspy from lack of use.  
  
More silence. Jinyoung feels like letting the quiet stretch a little longer but he has a job to do. Jinyoung holds his hand out and beckons Mark over.  
  
“Come.”  
  
Mark blinks, eyes tracing the boy’s face. A million thoughts swirl around his mind but none loud enough for him to catch. He doesn’t know why but for some reason, he feels compelled to obey. Hasn’t felt like he had a strong enough reason to move his limbs for anything until now. He lets his gaze fleet around the boy’s face, before giving a slight nod and sitting himself up.

He moves calmly, unhurried. Pushing himself backwards against the headboard to let his blood circulation flow a little better. He feels a bit groggy from laying down for too long. When was the last time he consumed anything? Jin gives him time to adjust. After what seems like hours, Mark slides his feet out of the covers and rests his feet against the floor. Jinyoung nearlt flinches at the sharp bits of ceramic he trodded on. _Why the concern anyway? His time is almost up._

He shakes his head out of his thoughts and takes the boy’s hand. The boy supporting him self with his other hand as he climbs onto the ledge. Jinyoung's other hand steadying him.

  
“Come. We’re leaving soon."

Mark tilts his head up to face him. A boy that looks about his age. Soft wispy raven hair; eyes like a lynx’s, thinly slit and bulbous, lashes long and batting against his cheeks, eyelids fluttering over his purple irises. _Purple. Strange._

"But before that, I have some things to show you."

Mark still thinks he shouldn’t be so at ease. But he is and it would’ve been shocking had he been able to feel anything remotely alive these past few years. But he had to ask.  
  
"We? Leaving.... as in… where exactly?"

He doesn’t know why he didn’t ask who the boy was. Doesn’t know why he didn't ask about how he was able to levitating outside his window. Doesn’t know why he didn’t ask how he got in. Doesn’t know why it feels like it doesn’t matter.


End file.
